Ranma: the Amazon in America
by Koala Kitty
Summary: Nodoka was an Amazon, who wanted her only child to wed a strong man-- but he wasn't into guys, so he fled to America with his father, looking for Soun Tendo, or some sanctuary. . .
1. Bail me, Baby

Dsiclaimer: I don't own Ranma, or anything else, really. . . except my soul . . .

All right, here's a better summary. Nodoka is an Amazon. Genma and Ranma were cursed when Ranma was very small, instead of when he was sixteen, while they were on a family vacation –they lived in China, he was raised as an Amazon. Nodoka had the cure for his curse, but she wouldn't give it to him, she was just too thrilled to have a daughter. Genma she refused to cure because she found him to be a slovenly husband, even though he'd beaten her in combat, and because he was supposed to be watching Ranma when the little boy fell into the pool. So Ranma was raised being told he should live as a woman by his mother, since men were weak, and being told the opposite by his father. Then Ryouga comes along, and gets knocked into the spring of drowned pig, and starts chasing after Ranma, since Ranma knocked him in. Ranma, as a girl, loses because he had just gotten out of another fight (he had a broken arm, couldn't fight as well) and Nodoka decides Ranma should marry Ryouga. Ranma panics, explains things to Ryouga, and Genma suggests they leave for America, in the hopes that they'll find Tendo and he'll give them succor. Ryouga (who is Scottish and HOPELESSLY lost, so lost he's live in Japan all his life) offers to teach them English, and come along. So they have a kind of Chinese-Scottish accent, and sound very, very weird.

In the meantime, Akane, who, along with her sisters, was raised in America after their parents fled Happosai and Japan, was engaged through an arranged marriage to the son of her uncle's buisness associate, a boy named Jordan. Nabiki and Kasumi are already in college at the time when our story begins, and Akane is in her second semester at college – a college in her hometown, she only lives in the dormitories because the college requires all freshmen to live in dormitories. Ranma transfers in, he has to go to school because the whole reason he gave for coming to America was to go to school, and that's pretty much all he's allowed to do– emmigration officials come around now and again. So that's where we are right now, folks, at the start of the story. It'll be revealed later, but just so no one is terribly confused. . . .

Chapter One

There was once a time when I saw that man standing there and I thought of the future. I used to picture my children having his big soulful eyes, his dusky skin. And I was happy, happy in the knowledge that when he said he loved me, he meant it. He was obligated to marry me, because of our father's arrangement, but that didn't mean he was obligated to love me.

No, that he worked out all on his own. The love. I still remember when it first began, when he said he'd protect me no matter what. Now, he was a small man, and weaker than me. I could always take him. In the end, I knew it would be the other way around. But he offered. And I melted, just like the little sixteen-year-old I was.

We used to sneak into each other's rooms. My father knew about it, but he didn't care. He figured we'd be married soon anyway, and it didn't matter. The thought that frightens me the most right now is that I won't be able to forget the way he whispered my name, strangled and hoarse as we both arched back, or the way he would rest his head on my chest afterwards, trusting and innocent. I truly believe that those midnight trysts were innocent, we were children playing at the game of love, knowing nothing of betrayel.

But I have forgiven him too many times. I allowed myself to be wooed by sandy-blonde hair and soulful brown eyes. I allowed myself to be brainwashed by the idea of honor, despite the fact that it was soon apparent he had none. He was a lier, and a cheat, and a scoundrel. And I forgave him. I forgave it when he used to yell at me when I was trying to help him and never apologized, when he pushed me away and blamed me for the distance between us. I forgave him when he nodded and smiled at all of my deepest concerns, when he changed the subject from philosophy to video games. Forgave everything. This, however, I can't forgive.

"You have no idea why they put you in here?" I repeated, my eyes boring into his. He shifted uncomfortably on the narrow bed inside his cell. I knew full well why he was in jail, the officer in charge told me on the way in, while he was telling me the price for bail. He was under arrest for fraud, and quite a bit of it. He managed to cheat hundreds of people out of thousands of dollars, using Ebay to sell nonexistant goods, then skipping out on the account before they could be reported. They even managed to cover their tracks financially, due to the apparent brilliance of his partner.

The other half of "they" was called Natalie, and the jailer assured me she was quite lovely. The fact that his partner was female was a small consideration, however, by the time he got around to telling me about her. His fidelity I'm not prepared to call into question. I don't have to. The financial breach of honor was more than enough to release me from my father's contract, and if it isn't, I'll rip the damned thing up.

I am not marrying Mr. Jordan Simmons, come hell or high water, my father can disown me if he wants. I'm not marrying a spineless little lying excuse for a pre-med student. The bastard isn't even a martial artist.

"I swear, baby, I swear, I don't know anything. I think they have the wrong guy," he whined. Usually, the whining works. Usually I melt, right about here, and ask him to tell me his side. And he's always very good at inventing his side. This time, though, I'm not melting at all. I might, in fact, be freezing a bit.

"That's just terrible, Jordan, really. I'll get you out of there," I said, pulling off my engagement ring. His eyes widened. "Get one of the guards to hock this for you, I'm sure it will be enough," I snapped. I wanted to coo it at him. I wanted to smile sweetly as I made my exit. But I'm just not that good at self-control.

"What do you mean, baby? You don't have the money for it?" he asked.

"No, I mean that I don't want to marry you, you ruddy rutting insensitive honorless lying cheating shitting son of a two-faced whore!" I snapped, letting my temper get the best of. His jaw dropped. Before I could say anything else, and maybe get myself in trouble, I turned and left.

"Akane? Akane, baby, you can't leave me. . ." he pleaded. I was not, however, listening. I walked right out of the police station, down the big stone steps, and off into the chill night air. The wind whipped at my face and my hair, and I let it. I got to the bridge over the canal between campus and the town, and I couldn't help myself. I jumped up on the railing and threw my arms back.

"I'm FREE!" I screamed, at the top of my lungs. Or, at least, I started to. I got to the "f" in free before something flew by me and rammed into my torso, dragging me off the railing while knocking all the air out of my lungs. I was dragged back to the pavement, where the flying lump transformed into a human being– a human being who stood me back on my feet again and held me steady while I caught my breath.

Not that that won him any brownie points.

"What in the name of GOD do you think you're doing?" I screamed. He stepped back away from me, an expression of hurt on his face. He was carrying an industrial-size backpack, perfect for hiking, and he was filthy. A ruddy hiker. Not surprising. My college is pretty close to a national forest, and we get all kinds of people who've been wandering around on the Appalacian trail. They come in for a hot meal and a refill on their supplies. I can't remember ever seeing someone dressed up in a Chinese shirt for hiking, though, or seeing many hikers with that kind of muscle.

"Keeping you from jumping," he replied, shortly. He had some kind of weird accent. I glared up at him, clutching my ribs.

"I wasn't going to jump. I was CELEBRATING. Next time, ask before you try to remove someone's ribcage!" I snarled. He glowered right back at me.

"Well, you shouldn't be standing on rails to celebrate, you uncute tomboy!" he snapped. I blinked at him for a moment, too confused to retort.

"Uncute? Not, ugly? Or clumsy? You do know that 'uncute' isn't a word in the English language, right?" I snarled at last. His features darkened, and he pushed past me, towards town.

"I should have let you jump, the world would be a better place!" he called back. I glared at him for just a moment before continuing on my way. By the time I got back to my dorm room, I had forgotten all about the jerk.

I opened my door and found my roommate (and best friend) staring at her fish tank. Just staring. In her defense, she has rather interesting fish. One of them used to belong to the biology department, and he's a giant goldfish. Mutant-big goldfish. He's the leader of all the other goldfish in the room. She looked up as I came in, and smiled. I grinned back.

"Guess what?"

"What?" she asked, dutifully. I paused for dramatic effect.

"I broke up with Jordan!" I grinned. She leapt to her feet and trapped me in a big bear hug.

"At last! Free at last, free at last!" she cried, breaking away from me and jumping up and down. Normally, friends don't get this exited over this sort of thing, but she has a sort of special relationship with Jordan. They were lab partners in freshman biology. That is, in fact, how I met her. And ever since she met me, she's been bugging me to dump him. She HATES Jordan. Hates him more than she hates any of her ex-boyfriends, even. "Tell me how it happened!"

So I told her about the Ebay fraud, and Natalie, and how I gave him back the ring at the jail. She giggled in delight when I told her how small the cells were, and how they'd be detaining him overnight.

"It's like a dream come true!" she sighed, happily. She gave me a sidelong glance and dragged me over to the fridge. "This is an occasion for chocolate chip cookies!"

"Most definitely," I agreed. She pulled a bag of chocolate chip cookie mix, milk, and some eggs out of our fridge. From his cage on top of our fridge, one of her hermit crabs snapped at her. I hate the hermit crabs, they remind me of giant spiders. She has eleven of them. And eleven goldfish, four betas, and a chamelion at home who can only eat live crickets, which she also has to take care of. Shockingly, she's a Biology major. No pre-med, no pre-vet, just biology. The idea is, eventually, to get into chemistry and pharmaceuticals, but she's just too wishy-washy about what she wants to do. I have to hand it to her though, Kodachi does have a gift with plants and animals. And cooking. And, more interestingly, drugging her cooking.

I asked my roommate once, and only once, why she didn't try to market the drugs she could make. She told me it was because of her brother, and wouldn't say anything more about it. I had to do some research on him, of course, being a naturally curious person. Turns out he went stark raving mad at some point and tried to kill everyone in his high school, using a wooden sword he thought belonged to some ancient samurai. I suppose she drugged him and caused it, or something.

We made the cookies, and ate them happily, completely disregarding any caloric intake we might regret the next time we tried on swimsuits. I felt regret and sadness tugging at my heart, but I refused to give in to them. After all, it was for the best. He was a jerk, and it would be stupid to marry such a person, utterly stupid. So I ignored the pulling of my heart, and when his face kept flashing into my mind, I insisted Kodachi watch "Ever After" with me. Then, because she wussed out and went to bed, I watched "His Girl Friday" alone. And then "Mulan," and then "Pretty Woman." At last, completely exhausted, knowing I wouldn't have time to dream about him, I let my eyes close, and drifted off.

It was a hellish morning, as expected, and there were a few moments when I thought I really couldn't get out of bed. Kodachi, of course, had made coffee by then, and the scent of it wafting up to me was heavenly, so I got down from my bunk bed and had a cup. It's amazing how many concerns caffiene will chase away. Little concerns, like "What will I do now?" "How can I live without him?" "What will Father say?" and "Will he just give up quietly?"

Fortified with coffee and a candy bar, I trudged into my first class. It was new, a four-week course offered for the second half of the regular semester, and it was my first day. Otherwise, I would have skipped it and slept in. The only reason I even have a class that early in the morning is my friend Iris was taking it, and she talked me into it. Of course, I need to take it sometime anyway, or else she wouldn't have been able to persuade me.

I smiled and waved at Iris as I walked in, and took a seat next to her. She eyed me for a moment, her dark brown bangs falling into her eyes.

"All right, what happened?" she asked. That's what I like about Iris, she's always right to the point.

"I broke up with Jordan," I told her. She whistled, long and low.

"Good for you. Are you okay?" she asked. I nodded. She reached over to pat my hand, her expression serious– which is rare. "I'm glad to hear it. This is going to be really, really hard for you. Maybe the worst break-up of your life. If you can handle this, you're good," she informed me. I blinked in confusion.

"Why would this one be the worst?"

"First love, sugar. First love. This is the part where you realize that love isn't all it's cracked up to be, and sex is meaningless, and most importantly, that you can't always tell how the story is going to end by the book jacket." she looked around for a moment, then lowered her voice and leaned in, as if telling me a secret. "Truth be told, if you want to make this easier on yourself, have some one-night stands. Orgasms are good for your outlook on life, and besides, it would help you to stop associating sex with him. You don't want to associate sex with him, or else you'll think you want to get back together with him when you're really just horny."

"Seriously?" I asked, dubious. She nodded, and leaned back into her seat. If there's someone who would know, it's Iris. She's been around the block enough times. . . and she handles break-ups better than anyone I know. I mean, I've been outwardly fine so far, but that's because I'm not thinking about it. If I start thinking, or if I have a really bad day, I'll just lose it. I know that. But Iris. . . I've never seen Iris lose it over a guy, period.

I let my eyes wander off, thinking about what she said. I would like to think sex is an expression of love. . . but I know better. Or maybe I'm just sort of prejudiced against idealism, since it was idealism that let the whole mess with Jordan go on this far. On yet another hand. . . it was idealism that let the whole mess with Jordan go on this far.

My train of thought came to a screeching halt as a short man with long black hair and shockingly blue eyes stepped into the room. He was wearing a red Chinese shirt, just like before, and black pants, just like before. His lips curled down when he saw me, and he took a seat on the other side of the classroom.

"That one. . . that one would be a good start," Iris whispered to me, staring at the man who'd knocked me off the railing. "In fact, I'd take him myself, but you need it more."

"Oh, please," I snorted. But I was staring, too. Fortunately, I didn't have the chance to stare long enough for him to notice. The teacher came in, an old man with matted grey hair and a long, tangled beard.

"Good morning, class. Welcome to Writing 105."


	2. Another Rescue

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters from Ranma ½.

"I realize a lot of you are just out of high school, and you can't really appreciate this yet," the professor smirked, passing out syllabi. "But writers, just like all other artists, get good through practice, and practice alone. Since this is an intro class, a lot of you may be expecting to waltz through it. You won't." He flashed a charming grin at one of the girls up front, causing her to blush. Iris chuckled behind me. "We're going to be in here every day, writing. And you're going to spend a good portion of every evening, writing. That is, if you want to pass my class.

"You'll notice, on the syllabus, that there are no scheduled tests. I don't believe in tests, I think they give some people an unfair advantage. You will, however, have to turn in forty pages of text, revised and edited, in any form you wish." A low groan rumbled through the room, and the grin on his face widened. "Forty pages of poetry! Forty pages of essays! Forty pages of fiction! The list goes on and on, my friends, feel free to mix and match.

"With that sort of goal in mind, I think it fitting that we begin writing. . . right about now, wouldn't you say? Get out some paper and a pen. No pencils, mind, just pens."

In the rustle that followed, Iris leaned up close behind me, under the pretext of getting something out of her backpack.

"You need to talk to him after class," she whispered.

"The professor?"

"No, idiot! Mickey Blue-eyes over in the red shirt. Talk to him."

"No chance," I hissed back. She was going to say something else, I could tell by the way she sucked her breath in—all indignant and demanding. She seemed to think better of it when the professor turned his cool, amused gaze to us.

"Write about a place you know. Your room, your kitchen, your favorite trysting spot. No people, no action, just a place. You have five minutes," Professor Byrnes informed us, settling back on his desk. I stared at the blank paper in front of me.

'My room used to be pink, with little roses on the walls,' I began, to the sound of sixty pens scratching. "My mother painted them there, when I was very young. I was afraid to paint over them for years, as though if I just kept them there, if I just held on a little longer, she would stay with me. Or a part of her, anyway. It felt like picking off a scab, the day I finally did paint over the walls. I thought, then, that since I was able to paint over the roses I would be able to let go of a lot of other things, too.

'I started painting the day after my fiancé told me he loved me.'

I stared at the paper for a moment, aching ice taking over my stomach. Slowly, I lifted my hand and crossed out the word 'fiance.' He certainly wasn't that anymore.

I painted over my mother's roses for him. He said it wasn't healthy, to hold on to the past so hard that I forgot to tend to the future. He said he wanted to be in that future. He asked me what our children would say if they saw their mother crippled by a memory. And then . . . and then . . .

There was still a tan line on my left hand where the ring used to be. I wasn't rid of him, there were still so many marks he had left on me. Scars he had left on my soul.

"All right, then, pens down," Professor Byrnes said, the sound of his voice cutting through me like a hot knife through lard. It pulled me out of my own world and into a room full of red plastic chairs and scarred wooden tables, a room with cinderblock walls and a clean, bright green chalkboard. He stared at me expectantly, and a feeling of dread quickly joined the sadness.

The bastard was going to call on me.

And no wonder. I could feel the blood on my face, pounding against me in the lids over my eyes, pulsing through cheeks and over my nose. I wasn't crying, was I? I wiped at my eyes, just to make sure. No, not crying, not yet.

Oh yeah, I'm fine. I got rid of Jordan and his damn engagement ring and I'm peachy freaking keen, that's what I am. I'm so well-adjusted to the idea that I'm having a breakdown in class.

"Miss. . . .? Would you like to share what you've written? It seems to have struck a nerve," Professor Byrnes said, gesturing toward me. As one, all eyes in the room turned to rest on me.

And I thought my blood was pounding in my face before.

"Tendo, my name is Akane Tendo," I told him, my voice sounding hoarse and harsh in my own ears. "I don't really want to read, if that's all right."

"Oh, don't be shy. We're all writers here, we're here to support and encourage one another. Please, read for us. Maybe you have an idea for a story already blooming in your mind," he said, opening his arms wide as if to embrace all of us.

"I'd really, really rather not," I demurred again. He looked as if he were about to insist, but someone cut him off before he could. A savior. A knight in brightly polished armor.

"I have something to read, f she doesn'a want to," said the red-shirt clad stranger, coming to my rescue yet again. He was smiling benignly at the teacher. Plainly, he had something rather spectacular to say, or so his stance proclaimed. I stared at him, torn between the desire to gush gratitude and throw a book at his head. Of all the people to rescue me from having to read, of course it had to be him. . . . not some random stranger, but him. . . .

"My English is a little unstable, but I think this is okay," he continued, in his strange accent. Professor Byrnes squinted at him, as if trying to determine what planet he'd dropped off of.

"Is English not your first language?" he asked.

"No, I just moved here from China," he replied. There was a moment of silence before Professor Byrnes replied, as if that had never occurred in his classroom before.

"Well, then, tell us your name and read what you wrote," he said at last, almost dismissively.

"Ranma Saotome." Ranma settled back in his seat, holding the paper out in front of him. "It's silent-that eerie, blue sort of silence you only find in the mountains. Over the next ridge, in a valley of grass and grey rocks, there are hundreds of springs. You can look down to them, from the top of the rise, and see them stretching out almost into forever. They're littered with bamboo poles, sticking up out of the ground and from the middle of pools. Each pole is crusted with blood at the top, the marks left by feet that have been running across rocks. This is a place of death, where the strong are punished under the guise of training. They are brought here, to be cursed, to bleed onto the poles and drown in the pools. And over it all lies the concealing smoke mountains breathe, blue-grey and forgiving as stone."

He put the paper down, and waited for the teacher to respond. Professor Byrnes looked stunned. He cleared his throat at long last and nodded acknowledgement to Ranma.

"Excellent. What place were you describing?"

"Jusenkyo Springs. I haven't been there since I was five, but I dream of that place every damn day," came the soft reply. I looked at him sharply. A man with a past, then.

Was it just me, or had I recently been jettisoned into a bad romance novel? A dark-haired stranger comes out of the night to save the heroine, love blossoms from the ashes of their initial mutual distrust. . . oh, for heaven's sake.

No more late-might chick flicks for me.

More people were invited to read their scribblings, and before I knew t, class was over. Iris poked me hard in the back of the neck with a pencil, just as Professor Byrnes was wrapping up the writing session.

"Thank him the instant we get out of here or I'll thank him for you, and you won't like what I have to say to him," she threatened. I closed my eyes briefly, wondering if I could pray for strength, and actually get an answer.

Give me a band of thugs to fight, give me six term papers on a two week deadline. Anything but the aftermath of what Jordan and I were. I was just beginning to see what an immense wreckage this was going to leave in my life, and I hadn't even told my father yet.

Heaven help me when I go to tell my father.

Faced with the prospect of Iris telling the Saotome boy that I was desperately in love with him—or worse, angels fear to tread on the toes of Iris Gerbowski when she's on a mission to embarrass—I swallowed my pride and chased Ranma out of the classroom. And I do mean chase. The boy shot out of there as if the hounds of hell were snapping at his heels.

"Ranma, wait!" I yelled, as soon as we were outside the classroom. He turned, the light, graceful turn of someone with perfect balance. A martial artist, maybe?

More likely a ballerina, based on his build. He was barely taller than me.

"Aye? What would ye be wantin' with me?" he asked, in that odd accent of his.

"I. . . I wanted to thank you," I muttered, drawing closer to him. He raised a black eyebrow at me, snorting.

"Now you want to thank me? Last night you just wanted to insult me," he pointed out.

"Well, you did try to break several of my ribs, what did you expect?"

"A thank you!"

"Well, I'm trying to thank you now!" I snapped, glowering. He looked at me for a moment, before he let loose a big breath and the tension flowed out of his shoulders.

"Dinna mention it," he said, lightly, and turned to walk away. I watched him go, a cold feeling in the pit of my stomach. So he really was just being nice, both times. I'd almost thought maybe he was trying to be nice and win me over, or something. I'd almost thought he liked me, sort of. Why else would he have intervened in English class?

Or, maybe, he just wanted to read what he'd written. Maybe my ego was getting the best of me. After all, I was obviously not pretty enough, or smart enough, or sweet enough to keep the attention of Jordan. What made me think anyone would . . . oh, hell.

I still have to tell my father.

-

The day dragged on forever. Every minute of every class was torture, sitting still was just not working for me. I tried to focus, but all my mind could hold was static, and the look on Jordan's face when he saw me walk through the doors of the jail. Releived. He had been counting on me.

And I walked out on him.

I tried all afternoon to sit still and work on homework. I tried to take a nap. I tried to watch a movie. I tried to help Kodachi with her culinary experiments. But by the time ten o'clock rolled around, it was plain to see that static electricity had replaced all the blood in my veins, and the only thing for it was action.

So, at ten o'clock, I put on my shoes and I went out in search of trouble.

There are only a few places in town to find trouble, and not very many of them are exactly hopping on a Monday night. Frat houses, most of them. A girl can almost always count on a drunken frat fight to alleviate her nerves. There are a few local dojos, too, one of which my father actually owns. None of which would be open to challenges tht late at night. It was too late for legitimate trouble, and too early for drunken fights. So, what's a girl to do?

Head out into the mountains, of course. Find some coyotes. Find a bear. Kick the ass of something. Something big.

So I hiked up into the dark woods without a flashlight, without so much as a match. Electricity was humming through my veins and I wanted to fight something. Sometimes, the only emotion you have room for is rage.

When I was younger, before Jordan came to my house and wrecked my world, I used to go outside and break cinderblocks whenever I got upset. If I was sad, I would funnel it into rage. Into martial arts. Then Jordan came, and every time I was sad, he was there to make me smile. Whenever I was dejected, he was right there with a back rub or a freshly backed plate of cookies. He became my new focus, the emotion I funneled all fo my negative energy into was love.

And then we came here to school and everything fell apart.

So I was faced with a choice between doing something girly—crying and eating chocolate until my veins burst—or letting my testosterone take over and doing something stupidly reckless. I've always been the tomboy type.

I ran off the trail, between trees and over bushes, trusting in my less prominent senses to keep me from running into a tree. I was halfway up the mountain when I did run into something, and it wasn't a tree. It was a bear.

In my defense, the bear dropped right out of the tree in front of me, and I didn't have time to swerve. It batted me away, making a strange grunting noise. Without thinking, I rushed at it. A punching bag at last!

My fists and feet sunk into the startled creature, and it was a few moments before it thought to do anything back. But what it did do shocked the ever-loving hell out of me.

It kicked me.

Bears do NOT kick. Or, at least, they don't do scissor kicks at people's stomaches. The blow knocked me back, into something else that was squishy—something that had arms, arms that locked around me and refused to let me go. I kicked at the attacker, but he didn't seem affected.

No, wait, she didn't seem affected.

"Oyaji!" came a startled, female voice from behind me. Then, in English. . .

"Would you stop kicking already? It won't do you any good," the girl holding me warned. I realized, belatedly, that she was shorter than I was. I tried to lift her off the ground by bending forward, but she stayed put.

"There's a bear out here, idiot, and it kicks!" I snarled.

No my best dialogue, but hey, I wasn't exactly in a position to compose sonnets at that point.

"Stop kicking or I'll knock you out!" the voice warned. I kicked her in the shins, hard, and the night rushed up around me, embraceing, smothering, all-encompassing.


	3. Ryouga's Plan

Dsiclaimer: I don't own any anime characters. . . .

Chapter 3

I came back to myself slowly, to the sounds of muted conversation. At first, it seemed like the buzzing of bees around me, but as my eyelids got lighter and I felt the lethargy lifted from my limbs the buzzing became words.

". . . didna have to conk the lassie so hard, mutton brain."

"Better mutton than pork, bacon breath."

"Would you get off that?" That last one was screamed, and the sharp sound went through my ears like a red-hot poker. I must have moved, or made some noise, because the conversation stilled for a moment. A warm hand touched my neck, just where the blood flowed closest to my skin.

"At least she's no hurt verra badly. Wakin', mebbe?" said the one who had shrieked, his voice a soft burr in my ears. Some one else snorted, and the warm hand retreated from my flesh.

"I hope not. Little miss "jumps off bridges" isn't exactly fun to deal with, you know."

"An' how would I be knowin' that? What was she doing out here, anyway?"

"Hell if I know."

"Walking," I muttered, opening my eyes. A soft yellow light hovered at the edge of my vision. I turned towards it, and saw that it was made by a small fire. There was a man between my body and the dancing flames, he was dressed all in yellow and his face held such soft concern that it almost. . . not quite, but almost, distracted me from the oddity on the other side of the fire.

There was a panda. A big, fluffy, fat panda. No chains or cages in sight.

And next to the panda, his eyes the color of ice in the light of the fire, was Ranma Saotome.

"You," I breathed. "What are you doing out here in the woods?"

-

"You," she rasped, her black hair falling in her eyes. She glowered at me across the flames. As if I were the one who sprang out of no where, attacking people's fathers. I'm just glad I got the water heated before she woke up. I really, really wouldn't have wanted to explain, to her of all people, about the Jusenkyou curse.

"What are you doing out here in the woods?" she demanded. I felt the muscles in my hands clench, involuntarily. I really, really should have hit her harder. Who knew she had such a thick skull?

"The lassie doesna favor ye much, Ranma," Ryouga chortled, glancing at me over his shoulder.

"Bet she doesna favor you either, rocks-for-brains." I turned my attention to Akane. She was already rising to her feet, looking around to get her bearings. Tough girl, eh? "I was going to ask you the same question. You're not strong enough to wander around the woods on your own."

"Not. . . strong enough?" she repeated, her eyebrows raised almost to her hairline. I nodded.

"Not nearly. There are wolves out in these woods, you know, and I bet a few of those could finish you off easily. Not to mention all the guys who might hang out in the woods, just waiting for someone to prey on. You don't really look like a girl," I gestured towards her baggy clothing, "but you'd still be pretty small for a . . ."

A sharp, sudden pain splintered through my head. I tried to open my mouth to yell, but I found it was pushed to the ground, rather hard. It swallowed me. Plain and simple. I sank into oblivion.

When I returned to the world, the forest was swimming in the soft blue light of very early morning. My head hurt so much I could feel each individual expanding, throbbing capillary. I raised a heavy hand to my face and made sure my face was still on right.

"She's a braw lass, no?" came the sardonic voice from my left. I opened my eyes just wide enough to glower at Ryouga.

"Aye, that she is. And a dead one, when I get to her. Where is she?" I groaned, rolling to my feet. He clucked his tongue in disapproval.

"Took her back to the town. Sweet enough, really, once you get her talking. And, notably, single," he said, with a wide grin in my direction.

"Why notably? You have a thing for her?" I asked him, grinning a little. "You know, as my fiance', you're not really allowed to look at other girls."

As far as that went, anyway. I first met Ryouga Hibiki in my home village—I was a girl at the time. And, prior to that, I had been a girl for about. . . eleven years, barring baths and the occasional soup accident. When I was four, my parents took me to see the Cursed Springs of Jusenkyo—and I fell into one. The Spring of Drowned Girl, as it happens. So I became cursed by the spirit of a girl who had drowned there long ago, and whenever I was hit with cold water I turned into one. My mother, who'd despaired of ever having a daughter to inherit her property in the Tribe, was ecstatic. That didn't mean she was going to refrain from punishing my father—he got his own curse out of it.

Amazons like my mother are very vindictive toward their menfolk.

Which is why, for most of my life, I was raised as a girl. My father told me I was really a guy, but I didn't really think it mattered. All that mattered was being strong. All that mattered was the Art—the art of killing, the art of protecting.

Which is why, about a year ago, I was training with one of the village elders out in the woods—and she broke my arm. I sort of lost my temper at that point, and Ryouga—the idiot, wandering in to "save that poor old lady"—beat me up. Beat me in a fair fight.

According to the laws of our Amazon village, any man who can beat an Amazon warrior must marry her, to provide strong children for the Tribe. That's how my mother got saddled with Pops. And so she saw nothing wrong with me having to marry Ryouga—despite my repeated protests that I really, really DON'T like men. I like women. I've always, boy or girl, preferred women. Call it a quirk.

"Call it a quirk of mine, Ranma, but I'd really rather you didn't talk about that when you're a guy," Ryouga winced. "Besides, you've hit on my exact point."

"You actually have a point?" I asked, feigning shock. He punched me in the arm, not lightly.

"Aye. Tell me, what are the Amazon marriage laws?"

I thought about that one for a moment. If you're a woman, you must marry any man who beats you, and kill any woman who beats you. If you're a guy. . . the laws are somewhat more complex, dealing with rights of ownership your mother or sister has over you, but the basic idea is the same. You marry strong women, ot bring them and their children into the Tribe.

And the little manic-depressive HAD beaten me.

"You think I should marry the little fire-spitter?" I asked, eyes going wide. He made that all-purpose Scottish sort of noise, best rendered phonetically as "Mmmmmmphmmm."

"Better than marrying me, aye? Dinna fret, ye'll find a way out of it soon enough. But would it not be best if you at least had another engagement to cancel ours, should your mother find you?"

That, that's my biggest fear. I don't want my mother to find me. That's why I traveled across oceans and learned a new language. I can face her wrath, fine, but I don't want to face her disappointment.

My mother's disappointment is often deadly.

-

"Akane?" Iris asked, when I showed up for writing class that morning. I smiled at her as I sat down, ignoring the tone in her voice. She tapped me on the shoulder and I turned, just enough to see her face.

"Good morning, Iris," I muttered.

"Akane, you have a black eye," she said, as if, perhaps, I hadn't noticed.

"I know. I got into a bit of a brawl last night."

"With who?"

No one. Just your pretty boy Saotome and his pet panda bear, that's all. Oh, and a random Scottsman who'd give you wet dreams for the rest of your life if you met him. Lost of muscles on that one. Too bad he's a borderline psychotic.

"A stray dog," I muttered. As soon as I said it, the "stray dog" in question walked through the door. He was wearing a white Chinese-style shirt now, a drastic change from the red, but otherwise identical, shirt he'd worn yesterday. Mr. GQ, that one.

Mr. GQ did not walk over to the seat he'd inhabited yesterday.

Instead, he walked over to me.

I thought for a moment that he was going to apologize. I thought he was going to inspect my black eye. I did not think he was going to bend down, slid his hand around my neck and into my hair, and kiss me.

So when he did, I was in such a state of shock I didn't move. He tasted like woodsmoke, and the cool black earth in the forest. He pulled back, but kept his face close to mine. Blue eyes, bluer than the clearest sky on the brightest day.

"In my mother's village, there are two sorts of kisses after a fight—the Kiss of Death, and the Kiss of Marriage."

That was about as far as he got before I came out of my shock and slapped him across the face. Hard. With every ounce of strength in my body.

I've never hit someone that hard. The only time I even came close I knocked the poor boy across the room, and nearly broke his neck. Saotome just turned his head with the force, and absorbed the blow. A big, angry red mark was forming, in the shape of my hand.

"What in the hell is wrong with you?" someone asked. To my great surprise, that someone wasn't me.


	4. Bathtub Scene!

Disclaimer: I don't own Ranma 1/2

_There was simply no hope for it._

_No hope, whatsoever._

_The man was going to have to die._

_He had betrayed her, no one was allowed to betray her. Forsaken her. Forsaken her for another woman, for money, for tangible meaningless things. She should never have loved him in the first place, should never have allowed herself the luxury. But he had broken down her defenses. He'd scooped her up off the floor when she was breaking inside, made her laugh when she felt like breaking cinderblocks, crushing bones._

_He had become, over time, the only person she could cry in front of. The only person she could show weakness to. He was her weakness. Her love for him made her weak—it was not love, so much, but need, now that she thought about it. She needed him. Had allowed herself to need him._

_It began when he wouldn't leave her alone in her vulnerable moments, the moments where the rain passed through her soul and left her shivering, shattered, with salt on her cheeks. Then, he'd refused to leave her when she tried to push him away. When he saw. . . when he saw what she truly was._

"I'm going to have to stop you there, Akane, this is just too painful too listen to," Kodachi informed me. I put down the story I was working on for my writing class, smiling sheepishly at her.

"I know, it's not very well written, but he isn't giving us a whole lot of time, here," Akane apologized, feeling her smile warble. Was it too transparent? Kodachi would know she was writing about herself, but would everyone?

Would that bastard Saotome be able to see right through it?

Maybe she'd be better off with a piece on puppies. Puppies are always safe. Except, Jordan tried to give her a puppy once, it tried to eat Nabiki's camera and . . . . STOP THINKING ABOUT IT!

"I couldn't care less how well it was written, I'm no poet laureate myself," Kodachi murmured. "But I can't stand this self-recrimination. Especially not because of him. Just what do you think you are, Akane, that a man like Jordan was a godsend?"

:Nothing, Kodachi. I was nothinga temper on two legs before he loved me. I broke bones when I was angry, I nearly killed some guys at my high school for harassing me. Then he loved me, and he was so weak, so helpless, that I couldn't hurt him for it. He softened me.:

Out loud, she said, "Oh, just a tomboy, I guess. Violent, that sort of thing."

Kodach rolled her eyes and took the paper from me, ripping it into little shreds and dropping it in the wastebasket.

"Have you seen any movies lately? Chicks that can fight are the new hot thing. There isn't a guy on this campus who wouldn't want a toned little tamale like yourself, or, for that matter, like me," she grinned, a feral grin. I smiled back, more tentatively. Sometimes I forget that Kodachi practically invented a whole new martial art—Martial Art Gymnastics. It's a sport of cheating—my dad teaches Anything Goes, so, well, anything goes, but still—and Kodachi is one of the best.

Plus, she looks pretty good in her leotard. I, however, look like legs and a head in leotards, so she couldn't talk me into it.

"You just get back to typing. Write up a story about that guy you were so worried about in class, the one you malleted last night," she suggested. I rolled my eyes.

"No chance in hell. Did I tell you what he did in class today?" I asked. She crossed her legs and leaned back, settling in.

"No. Do tell," she purred.

"Well, he kissed me."

"Then you should definitely write about him. In fact, date him. Stop moping."

"All right, look, I'm allowed to mope for at least a week, and I've only used up two days of that. I haven't even told my father yet."

"You should get on that."

"I will. Anyway, I don't think you quite understand. He kissed me in CLASS. In front of everyone. And, then, well . . . I slapped him. Hard."

"Akane, you're hopeless."

"Well, he . . . look, he said something really weird, too. About his mother's tribe having two kinds of kisses or something, and then . . . the slap didn't even faze him, he's pretty scary himself. Then the teacher walked in, and made us both leave the classroom—he didn't let us off on homework, though, so I have to write SOMETHING before tomorrow," Akane groaned, slumping back in her hard wooden chair. She ran her fingers absently over the cold, pale cinderblocks of the wall beside her.

"You do attract the freaks, Akane," Kodachi sighed, standing and sauntering over to her mirror. She studied her reflection for a moment, before adjusting her bangs and nodding, satisfied. "I'm going to go get some food for my babies, do you want to come?"

Food usually means live feeder fish, live crickets, or some nice coconut for the giant spiders she calls hermit crabs.

"No, thanks," I sighed. I rose to my feet, too. "I'm going to spend the night at home, tonight. I have to tell my father about the ruined engagement, and I just know Kasumi will make me stay over."

"I'm surprised she didn't make you stay at home while you were at school, period. How did you manage to escape into University housing?" Kodachi asked me, slipping on her shoes. I snorted.

"It was a hard battle, believe me. But you know the University policies—all freshman have to live in dorms. So I'm stuck here until next semester," I reminded her. I bent to tie the laces of my own shoes.

"What about your homework?"

"I can do it at the dojo, no problem," I muttered, straightening and joining her at the door. "I can write anywhere. I just. . . pray for me, Kodachi, I may not be coming back alive tomorrow."

We left the room, locking it behind us, as Kodachi giggled softly. We were halfway down the hallway before she let me in on what was so funny.

"If I pray to MY gods, Akane, you certainly won't be," she announced. I cast a sidelong glance in her direction—she was really eating this up. Her cheeks were pink with barely contained laughter.

"And just what gods are those?" I asked, carefully.

"Well, my dear, call them family totems. You wouldn't find them in any mythology books—they're Kuno property. But they aren't very nice."

Ah, there it was. The family estate. My father and mother moved to America from Japan when Kasumi was a baby, and they tried to keep as much of their heritage intact as possible. My father built his house with a dojo next to it, and a wall surrounding the property. He even tried to keep it in the Japanese style, not understanding how odd it was.

We don't have a lot of normal chairs in my house.

My mother insisted on rice paper walls and tatami mats, even a big Japanese style bathtub. The thing is huge. Both of my sisters could take a bath in there with me and it wouldn't be all that cramped. After my mother decided she wanted to go back to her family in Japan (read "deserted us and ran off like a dirty little coward") my father changed all the bedroom furniture to Western style. He says it's more comfortable, and I think he's right.

The gates in the big wall around our house were open. They haven't ever been closed since Nabiki went off to college in Texas. My father embraced her tearfully before she left to board her bus out of here, and promised that he would never shut the doors against her.

And he never has.

I kind of wanted to go to college far away, too, but guilt kept me here. Kasumi, my oldest sister, never went to a finishing school at all. Standing just outside the gates, I could hear her singing in the kitchen. My sweet, selfless, beautiful sister. Sometimes I think she really is perfect. When she was about to graduate high school, I asked her where she wanted to go to college.

"Oh, I'm not going. Someone has to take care of Father," she said, and then she smiled. "Besides, if I go to school, I'll never have time to work on my art." Her art. At our age, most people are still so wrapped up in themselves that all they can produce is an expression of anger, or despair. She writes children's books – sweet, charming little stories that she fills with sweet, charming little pictures. And she gets them published, too.

I didn't have the heart to leave her. And I'm sure, when next year rolls around and I'm no longer required to live on campus, I won't have the heart to stay out of my house, either.

I finally walked through the gates, and up to the door. Taking a deep breath, I slid it open.

"I'm home!" I called out. In a flash, Kasumi was out of the kitchen and right in front of me, throwing her arms around my neck. She smelled like fresh bread.

"Akane, darling! I'm so glad you're home, Father has guests coming over later, I'm sure he'll want you to meet them," she said, stepping back and appraising me. "You smell like a sweatshop, Akane, have you been fighting again?"

"I. . . . um . . . " Just a little, really. There were some high school thugs picking on a cat, under a bridge I had to cross to get home. Those punks barely made me break a sweat. Obviously, operation "Keep Akane at Home" was underway.

"You shouldn't be so violent," she admonished gently. "Go on up and take yourself a nice, hot bath. There are clean clothes for you in your room, and I just did your sheets. I do hope you'll be staying with us tonight," she smiled, and returned to the kitchen, humming happily.

I knew it. No one can stand up under the happy barrage of domesticity that is Kasumi.

With a heavy sigh, I went upstairs to take a bath. Any excuse that would postpone my announcement to father was more than welcome.

(changing perspective. . . . NOW)

"Stop yer whining. Soun Tendo is a good friend of mine, and he'll keep us in food an' hot water. He might even hide us from your mother, when the time comes," Pops said, loftily. I glowered at him.

"Aye, but our pretext for staying just won't work. You don't know that he even has any daughters. Besides, I'm already married to both Ryouga and that Akane lass, so how can I take on an engagement?" I argued. He waved my words aside, as if they were nothing.

My blood was already boiling from everything that had happened earlier that day, and I wanted, very badly, to pound my worthless excuse for a father into the ground. Luckily for him, we were on a busy city street, and I knew enough about America to know that a sound public beating, while perfectly acceptable back home, was looked down on here.

So instead I satisfied myself with cracking my knuckles. A lot.

In all fairness to my pop, he wasn't the real reason I was so ticked. My new, ah, wife was the real reason. At least I was safe in making her such, she seemed to have no interest in me, and we could live out our separate lives.

But did she really have to slap me so hard? My cheek was still red from the force of that one. Granted, I've been slapped harder by my cousin Xian Pu, but still. All I did was kiss the girl. She didn't even give me time to explain myself. As if I had actually enjoyed kissing a violent, suicidal little girl like her!

Though, if I were being honest, she wasn't all that bad. That was the real reason the slap had shocked me so much. When someone kisses you back, you don't expect them to be pissed about it.

I cracked my knuckles some more. She would learn. She was my wife, and that meant I belonged to her, by Amazon law. But I wasn't raised as a boy in that tribe, so I look at things a little differently. I own her life, now—she beat me, and as a girl I would be required to kill her, but I did not, and will not. And as my wife—I have a right to kill any man who so much as touches her hair, so that's a form of ownership, too, isn't it?

Of course, it would be really hard to take the moral high ground on that one while I was freeloading at this Tendo's place under the pretext of a prearranged engagement to his daughter. What would this new girl be like? Sweet, maybe? Someone I could ignore? Someone who would take one look at my cursed body and see a perverted theme park, and demand a season pass to it? Someone like the Akane girl? If it were, I would be better off just killing myself and getting it over with. Two of them I couldn't handle.

Just as we reached the gates to the Tendo residence, it started to rain.

And it looked like I'd be meeting my new fiancé as a girl. Goody.

We walked through the gates and up to the front door. When we knocked, it was answered by a sweet-looking young woman in a flowery apron. She blinked at the sight of the panda beside me, and she blinked even more at the sign he was holding up.

Are you the daughter of Soun Tendo? it said. She nodded, slowly. The sign flipped around. I have business with him.

"Of course," she said, with a bright smile. Now it was my turn to blink in confusion. She was just. . . going to let us in? No questions? No. . . screaming at the sight of a large panda bear on the loose? Nothing?

Yeah, I could probably handle being around her. This might not be so bad.

Apparently, she WAS just going to let us in. She pointed Pops in the direction of Mr. Tendo before turning that bright smile on me.

"Would you like to warm up a bit while your pet talks with Father? My sister's just run a nice hot bath," she said. I nodded, dumbly. That was just. . . odd. It got even odder, as she led me up the stairs and knocked on the door of the bathroom. "Akane, one of Father's guests has arrived, and she's soaked to the bone. Can she join you?"

"Sure," came the muffled reply. Wait just a second, how many girls in this town are named Akane? As far as I know, it's not a common American name.

I opened the door, feeling my intestines clump together in a big, nervous, icy ball.

"I'll leave you two girls to it," the smiling lady said, and then she deserted me. Left me in the claws of the monster, as it were.

Sure enough, there was Akane, sitting in the biggest bathtub I'd ever seen. It was wide enough to fit two or three people stretching out, and deep enough that only her head and neck poked out of the water. Of course she was one of Soun Tendo's daughters. Of course. Fate freaking LOVES me.

"Come in and close the door, you're letting the hot air out," she commanded. I obliged, then stood by the door, awkwardly, for a few minutes. So . . . was this the proper time to explain the whole Kiss of Marriage thing? Or would she slap me again?

"Well, hop on in. Don't be shy," she smiled. She beckoned me over to the tub. "We're all girls here."

"Yeah, about that," I muttered, scratching the back of my head. "Is that water hot?"

"Yep, piping," she smiled. I sighed. Of course. Spoiled American girls and their hot baths, wouldn't last a single day in my village. . . "Are you shy? It's okay, really, I mean, we've all been in gym class, right?"

WHY was she begging me to get all naked with her?

"I'm not shy. I used to take baths with girls all the time in my village, but they were. . . cold baths, and that makes a bit of a difference," I answered her, leaning against the door.

"Why would that make such a difference?"

"Have you ever heard of Jusenkyo Springs?"

"No." Of course she hadn't. I want to go home where people take cold baths and speak Chinese.

"Och, well, it's a training ground in China. People go there, from all over, to get better at mid-air combat. But the consequences of a misplaced foot are severe. Every spring there has a tragic tale, someone who died there, and cursed the water. So if someone falls in. . ." I looked her dead in the eyes. She was languid still, only mildly curious. Not very perceptive, this one. ". . . they take the shape of whatever drowned there. The only thing that turns them back to their original form is a splash of hot water. And every time they get touched with cold water, they turn back—back into whatever drowned in that spring."

"So . . . you're cursed?" she said, slowly. I nodded, trying to be the soul of patience.

"Aye, and hot water would turn me back," I said, slowly. "I'm actually a boy." Her eyes widened at that. At last, some kind of reaction! "I was raised as a girl, though. I'm an Amazon. My mother couldn't have any more children, she was so disappointed that her only child was a boy that when I. . . when I wandered into the Spring of Drowned Girl, she was ecstatic. And I knew I was a boy, but that didna seem to matter. . ."

"What in the hell are you doing here?" she asked, cutting right to the chase. She had backed up to the farthest corner of the bathtub, and curled into a ball to protect herself. Please.

"Well, that's a bit of a long story," I sighed, resigning myself to telling it. I settled down on the floor, averting my eyes to the ceiling. Not because I didn't want to see her naked—why the hell should I care, I got the same parts—but because she was so obviously uncomfortable. I guess all that come-get-naked-and-wet-with-me talk was just bluster.

"Do we have to go through this now?" she asked. I looked at her, surprised. She blushed, and looked down into the water. "I just. . . this is sort of weird. I mean, I don't even know you, and you're telling me all this."

"You know me," I said softly, somewhat surprised. What, she didn't recognize my accent? My face? I always thought I looked pretty much the same in either sex.

"I. . . I do?" she asked. She was really blushing now.

"Och, aye. Ranma Saotome, remember?" I said, smiling at her. This was the part where she relaxed, asked me about the kiss thing, and we got this all settled, right?

No. Apparently not.

She screamed and ducked under the water. I could still hear the high, thin sound coming from underneath the water, and see the bubbles on the surface. Alarmed, I scrambled to my feet and ran over to her. I fished around in the water for a minute, then pulled her up by her arm.

"Don't DO that!" I yelled at her. Before I could yell at her some more, a hard, heavy weight came to rest on my head – with great force, so maybe "rest" isn't the correct term – and the world went black.

I woke up on a soft bed—one of the softest I've ever been on in my life—with something warm and heavy draped over me. As soon as I could, I opened my eyes and tried, very hard, to disregard the little man in my head trying to hammer his way out.

Akane was sitting over me, a sheepish expression on her face.

"I didn't think you were going to wake up so fast," she whispered, blushing again. Does the girl ever say anything without turning red?

"You know, that's the second time you've knocked me out in as many days?" I asked her, sitting up. I kept a tight grip on my head to prevent it from rolling off onto the floor. Man, that girl hit hard.

"Yeah. . . I'm really sorry about that. My fiancé. . . my ex-fiance used to yell at me for being too violent. I guess. . . I guess I haven't changed that much," she said, softly. I quirked an eyebrow at her. Competition was one thing I hadn't betted on.

"You're engaged?" I asked. She shook her head violently.

"I was. My daddy arranged it. . . but I called it off a few nights ago. Actually," she smiled at me, a warmer smile than I would have thought her capable of. "I broke it off the night you knocked me from that fencerail."

"So that's why you were trying to jump," I mused. "Good thing it's off, I'd hate to have to kill him."

"I was not. . . what are you. . . what?" she asked, utter confusion on her features.

"In my mother's tribe, there are two kinds of kisses. The Kiss of Marriage, and the Kiss of Death. You beat me. As a girl, I'd be obligated to kill you. As a man. . . I'm obligated to marry you, and bring more strong children into the tribe." I figured it would be best if I left Ryouga out of it for now. She needn't know about that mess yet.

She looked pale enough as it was. All the blood drained out of her face when I said that.

"So. . . so you think we're engaged now?" she asked. I laughed at her.

"Married, Akane. Married. Things are a lot more simple where I come from."

(bye bye)

Before anybody nails me to the cross of OOC, keep in mind, this is an AU. They've been raised very differently. Ranma was raised primarily by his mother, and taught to speak English by Ryouga, so his speech patterns are going to be very different. So is his attitude toward women. He won't have a problem hitting women—he considers himself more of a girl than a guy, anyway. He won't hit Akane, though—I can't imagine the penalties for hitting your wife in an Amazon tribe. So, there's that. And they're all older, they've been through a bit more. Akane isn't the cute little virginal child, she's been badly burned by a guy now. So the trust issues are very different, and much less tied to ideas about "perverts."

Also, they're all in America now. The girls were raised there. Mercenary girls like Nabiki are praised here for business sense, instead of condemned for being selfish. A quiet, demure Kasumi is the ideal Japanese homemaker—to be the same thing in America she'd be more vivacious. We like vivacious over here. And Akane wouldn't be considered boyish, she'd be considered childish. So. That was my real reason for moving them over here.

One more note—Ryouga is just Scottish, I'll get around to explaining that as soon as I come up with a good explaination. Oh, and the rest of the crew will be arriving shortly. No worries. Except Kuno. Can't bust him out of the mental ward. Sorry.

And Jordan is going to come back into the picture. Anticipate fun with that.


	5. Akane the Faint

Don't kill me. I meant to update sooner, really I did. I'm sorry. . .

Disclaimer: don't own, don't sue

Chapter .. . . something, where did I leave off?

"In my mother's tribe, there are two kinds of kisses. The Kiss of Marriage, and the Kiss of Death. You beat me. As a girl, I'd be obligated to kill you. As a man. . . I'm obligated to marry you, and bring more strong children into the tribe." I figured it would be best if I left Ryouga out of it for now. She needn't know about that mess yet.

She looked pale enough as it was. All the blood drained out of her face when I said that.

"So. . . so you think we're engaged now?" she asked.

"Married, Akane. Married. Things are a lot more simple where I come from," I laughed at her. Suddenly she got very still. After a moment, she began to laugh as well, but it wasn't the same sort of laughter—it was more hysterical.

"Married!" she hooted, leaning over and grabbing at her stomach. I began to get worried about her. Maybe it was a bit much at once?

"Well, more or less. It's not finalized until the birth of our first child, but for the sake of argument, yeah," I amended, thinking the extra breathing room would calm her down a bit. Instead, she sort of chortled, sighed once, and then her eyes rolled up into her head.

She fell over, dead weight.

"Bloody ballocks," I cursed, picking her up as I stood. Cold water. . . what was it Koh Lon always said about fainting? Aside from it being a silly Western girly trick.

I certainly hope it's not because she can't stand me, because I'm obviously getting the worse end of the deal. I mean, at least she's female, which was my main objection to Ryouga, but the girl is such a weakling. . .

I padded into the bathroom and splashed her face with cold water, but it was no use. The girl was out, well and truly. I took a moment to survey what I was getting. No great savage beauty, to be sure, but it could be worse. It could be a lot worse.

The hair. . . the hair I could do without, I'm not a hair kind of guy. But if someone were interested, hers was top notch. I'm a skin and lips kind of guy, and she was all over those categories—skin like an opal all over, and a round little mouth that just settled into a kind of pout naturally. Her eyes were nice enough, I suppose, they sure cracked when she was mad. Her figure. . . that, that wasn't so great. Could have been worse, I've certainly seen worse, but I've seen better.

Not, of course, that I am by any means an authority. My experience with things romantic extended only to a few kissing games with my cousins. Those cousins, however, were of some of the finest womanflesh I've ever seen in film, magazine, or in person.

All in all, I could live with her. Asleep, I could live with her. Awake. . . she might kill me. Wasn't that the enduring point, though? A woman strong enough to take me on? A woman I couldn't just push out of the way, brush aside, ignore? Great-grandmother always said that a woman like that was the only thing that would make me bearable. Of course. . . she said a lot of things. . .

Anyone would have a hell of a time trying to ignore Akane.

I slapped her cheeks gently—very, very gently. An Amazon man NEVER hits his wife, to do so is to court disaster. After a few moments, her eyelids fluttered open.

She landed a punch on my jaw before she came fully awake.

"That bad, is it?" I snapped, irritably rubbing my jaw. She gasped when she saw me rubbing it, and reached up to still my hand. I paused—it was a tender touch, and odd coming from the very person who'd inflicted my wound.

"I didn't mean. . . are you hurt?" she asked. I scoffed at her.

"It'd take more than you to hurt me. Believe me," I grinned. The next thing I knew, I was making very good friends with the tiles of the wall . . .

(Changing to Akane's point of view. . . pronto)

I stormed down the stairs, barely registering the fact that Father's guest was, in fact, not human before launching into my tirade.

"Was Ranma Saotome a guest of yours, Father?" I demanded, feeling the blood pounding in my face. He just gaped at me, dumbstruck and stuttering.

"I. . . I don't . . . he is. . . but. . . ."

"I THOUGHT so!" I screeched, well past the point of reason now. "Do you have any IDEA what that perverted freak thinks? He thinks we're married. And why? I certainly have no idea, do you have ANY idea, Father?" I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Did you engage me to yet another one of your friends' sons, Father?" I drawled, murder in my voice. He cleared his throat nervously, looking to the panda across the table from him for support. The panda sighed. . .

Wait. Wait wait wait. Panda. Like. . . the bear that kicked me the other night?

The panda sighed and tipped the tea he'd been drinking onto his lap. My vision blurred, and where the panda had been sitting there sat a man-- a bald man in a faded, torn gi.

For the second time in less than an hour, my face caved in and darkness claimed me.

(Back to Ranma's point of view! Don't let the constant switches make you motion-sick.)

I made my way down the stairs, head aching. Not that I'm unused to this sort of thing but honestly, who did the woman think she was. . .

I came upon a scene in the living room that I really ought to have expected. The little weakling was out—again. Pops had returned to his human self and was staring down at her, astonished. Her father—I assume that was the black-haired man—was wailing.

Honestly.

I padded over to Akane and lay her down flat, then turned to my father. He had that typical, questioning look about him.

"Married?" he asked, tersely. I suppose she spilled the beans. I nodded, jerkily.

"She beat me. Fair and square," I said. He sighed in relief, slapping his hand against his thigh.

"Well, Tendo," he said, addressing the wailing man. "That clears a few things up. After all, your daughter's engagement is hardly valid in the face of an Amazon marriage contract, now is it?"

"But what will I tell the young man? They're in l- love!" Tendo cried. I felt my eyebrows raise.

"What the bloody hell are ye yammerin' on about?" I asked, getting cross now. I just want a place to hide, damnit, I just want a sanctuary. . .

"Apparently, Akane is engaged to a young man named Jordan," Pops informed me, his tone grim. "I've asked, and the lad isna much for fighting. In fact. . . he's a bit of a nancy."

"Is he now?" I mused, thinking over what she'd told me. A ruined engagement, she'd said, but obviously she hadn't told her father yet. A though occurred to me, and I decided to press the matter. "Did he ruin the lass? Is she wi' child or summat?"

"Well," Tendo winced, calming down a bit in the face of cold questioning. "It's a possibility. . . "

That's it. Not having it. Not having her, rather. There's no way I'll let a marriage stand to a little weakling that let a lying, foolish, weak man lay his hands on her. Honestly, what do they teach girls in America?

For now, though. . . until I get a better idea. . ."The marriage stands unless she's wi' child, it's Amazon law. As for the engagement, you'll have to wait until the lassie wakes up."

We all looked down at Akane's peaceful face. She looked well out of it—pale and dreaming. I was the first to look away, I turned to her father.

"Where does he live?"

The man was obviously taken aback by the question. I wasn't going to let it lie, though. Perhaps until she woke up, but no longer, and better she did not know where I went when I did. The first time I met the girl she was trying to do herself in—no matter what she might say. That's a serious bit of business, and one that I'll not let stand against my wife—no matter whether I plan to keep her or not.

"I fail to see. . ." he began, but I cut him off.

"I don't hit weaklings." At first. I mostly just threaten. "I'll just warn the lad away from her, is all."

"I don't think that she'll want that. After all . . . even if Akane agrees to this, she'll want to explain it to him. And I don't think she'll agree to it. No offense, son, but she loves Jordan. She'd go to the ends of the Earth for him—and damn near has. I'm certain she won't throw away all she's given up for him just because you've come knocking at the door!"

Good, he was getting steamed now. Maybe the waterworks would shut down.

"What do y' mean, all she's given up for him?" I asked. Curiosity killed the cat. . . and I hate cats, so anything that offs them in droves is my best asset.

Tendo looked like he was about to throw it all in my face—the perfect relationship his baby girl had right under his nose with a twerp. Then he snapped it shut and looked away. Fine. I would find out in time.

I bent over, picked Akane up, and stood. They just watched me walk to the doorway, silent. Watched as I walked up the stairs. As I went, I heard Tendo say, "Akane will eat that boy alive—just wait and see."

Tch. As the man let me take his daughter upstairs to her bedroom without the benefit of an escort, to do whatever I want with her?

Unbeleivable.

I went to the door that said "Akane" on it and walked in, laying her down on the bed. The room itself was crammed full of things—furniture and papers and strange little knick-knacks. There was a picture on the desk of Akane and a blonde boy, laughing together, their faces almost touching. I picked it up and memorized his profile. This was him, then.

They did look happy, after all. I would hate to intrude. For the first time a doubt creeped into my mind. What if I were usurping someone else's place after all, and seriously messing this girl's life up? What if, without me, they would eventually get back together?

Maybe, just maybe, it didn't matter. Maybe.


	6. Chains

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.

I'm having a bit of fun with this now, and seem to be on a roll. Results not typical. Thank you all so much for reading. Especially those of you that take the time to review. . . thanks.

I opened my eyes to see Ranma Saotome waiting for me. Second time that's happened today. Third, technically. I certainly hope it's not setting a precedent.

"Yer father thinks ye've got some strong attachment to the lad, still," he jerked his thumb toward the picture of me and Jordan on my desk. I picked the picture up and threw it. It hit my door, and the glass shattered. The pieces fell to the floor. One. By. One.

There is only so much someone can take. . .

"My attachments are none of your business," I snapped, feeling the blood rise to my face. His eyes grew wide, then narrowed dangerously.

"You better get one thing straight here and now," he grated, rising to his feet. His hands closed into fists and, seeing that, so did mine. "You are my wife. I'm your property—and you're mine. There is NOTHING you do or don't do that isn't my business from this day forward. The battle I lost to you is an invisible chain binding our lives together, and you don't have to like it—damn you, you WILL abide by it!"

"I challenged you to no battles, and I made you NO promises, Ranma Saotome!" I flashed back at him, rising to my feet as well. I got in his face, glaring for all I was worth—I'm surprised his hair didn't catch fire.

"I want no part of your chains, real or imagined! No part of YOU! Get the hell away from me, and stay away!" I hissed, barely an inch from his face now. He was burning red, and trembling with rage—so was I. It was only a matter of who could snap first. . .

"You think I want any part of you? Arrogant, foolish chit of a girl! I don't look forward to a life lived with a weakling like you, but I have something you'll never understand! Spoiled, brainless, sexless American brat!"

"And what is that? What is it that you have that I could never understand?"

"Honor! A trollop like you who'd welcome the likes of him into her bed, a faithless warrior, a selfish brat! Who do you think. . ."

That was as far as he got. My mallet sprung out of its hiding place and smashed into his head, laying him low. I didn't even check to see if he was breathing. I was out the door and down the stairs before my hands stopped vibrating from the blow.

He might be right, heaven help me, he might be right. . .

I ignored Kasumi's questions as I ran out the front door, into the dank night air. I ran. I ran. I ran until my legs went numb, but I couldn't stop.

How far do you have to run to get away from yourself?

I gave up my honor for love, and as the person I loved had no honor. . . did that make me what Ranma called me? Did that mean that I had lost my honor? Am I a worthless martial artist, one who only knows martial arts to put a name to the violence? There is no art in that, no beauty, no peace. . . nothing worthwhile. There is only blood. . .

Maybe that is all I am good for. . . I'm so obviously a failure at a peaceful, ordinary life. That was what I was looking to have with Jordan, that was why it was worth it to. . . but was it worth it? Was it worth giving up my art for the sake of a man who played me false. . .

There were hot tears on my cheeks.

And a sharp pain across the back of my head. . . then nothing at all. . .

I came to conciousness slowly this time—my mind not wanting to give up its respite for the third time that evening. But come awake I did, and I regretted it.

Ranma wasn't waiting for me this time. Instead, there was a woman. A pretty woman, to be sure, but not one I knew. She had bright green eyes and tight curly hair—skin the color of coffee that's had so much cream it barely qualifies. She smiled at me, a ferocious smile, and toyed with the matte black gun in her left hand.

"Hello, Akane. Tough little Asian chick works for you, it really does. You could be the next Lucy Liu," she smirked, using the gun to raise my chin so I met her eyes. "With some plastic surgery."

I tried to move my arms, but found they were being held—by a rather bulky man behind me. He was propping me up, too. He had a buddy over in the corner, by the door, who looked like he could bench a good-sized car. It was a barren room, with only a light, a door, and a window to break up the blank monotony of white walls.

Fear made my heart pound faster, my breath come shorter—not because I had so obviously been kidnapped, but because I knew that room. I knew the view from that window. Jordan's father was a landlord to a dumpy little apartment complex, one of his friends rented out an apartment there last year. The last time I'd been in that room it was full of stoned teenagers, random bean bag chairs and a haze of pot smoke.

Jordan had something to do with it.

"Guess who I am?" the pretty woman purred. I swallowed, hard.

"You're Natalie," I said, proud that my voice didn't quiver. She took the gun away from my neck, tapping perfectly manicured nails against her hip.

"Clever. He said you were clever. Do you know why you're here?" she asked, tipping her head to the side. I shook my own.

"No guesses on that one, huh? Well, that I can tell you. You might have known about the little venture we were in on together, he and I? Did he not tell you?" I shook my head again. She only smiled wider before pressing on. "Well, now. I won't either. But it's not just some petty Ebay fraud, I'll tell you that much. Trouble is, now that you've left him, dear old Jordan doesn't perform the way he used to. And I NEED him to perform. So."

She looked me up and down, then nodded once.

"I'm going to give you back to him. As a present. Won't that be sweet?" she crooned. She headed for the door, then paused. She turned around and grinned at my captors, winking as she jingled a pair of keys.

"I'll just lock the door when I leave. Don't have too much fun now!" she laughed, and then she was gone. I heard the door click behind her once, twice, three times. Mr. Muscles by the door leered at me. The man holding my wrists pulled me closer to him, and I could feel the beginnings of a very big problem against my butt.

That, I think, was the moment where I lost my ability to reason and slipped into the part of my mind that does not question or explain, but simply knows. Simply does.

"I will not be chained," the words came out a cold whisper, not really sounding like my voice at all. The man holding my arms behind my back leaned forward, his head just a few inches from my ear. He twisted my arms up painfully, jolting. I turned toward him slightly, as much as my strained muscles would allow.

"Let. Me. Go," I commanded. He laughed at me. The bastard actually laughed at me. His buddy, Mr. Muscles, laughed at me too.

I brought my head over to the side, hard and fast, just at the angle that the hard shelf of my skull would strike him in the joint of his jaw. He grunted and jerked away, loosening his hold on me-- for moments, merely moments. More than enough.

My arms were slick with sweat and I jerked all of my body at once, slipping my arms through hus grasp. By the time he got a grip on me again, he was holding my wrists. I flipped back, trying to get my legs over his head or, barring that, my knees to his face. I felt one knee collide solidly with something before I was slammed down on the ground, hard. I felt a sharp, sudden pain im my wrist before it went completely numb.

My head hit the concrete floor hard, and my vision went black for a terrifying moment. When it cleared, my captor was leering above me, blood dripping from his nose. His friend was yelling something-- it didn't matter what. My blood was boiling.

I ripped my wrists away from my captor, and punched him solidly in the face. He screamed, and I think I did too. The pain in my wrist was searing. I kicked him anyway, right above his knee. He fell, and I rolled to my feet, only to catch his friend's fist in my face.

I rocked back, tripping over the man who had held my wrists. I landed hard on my tailbone, crying out. Then Mr. Muscles was on me, his fists on my flesh, the hard pints of his bones carving out new holes, new creases, new aches. I tried to find a pattern, to do something besides block and try to roll back, but he had no pattern and I couldn't. . . I was not strong enough. . . .

I don't look forward to a life lived with a weakling like you.

My fist found something solid, hit Mr. Muscles in the eye. Again. And again. The pain in my wrist was searing. . . he grabbed my hurt arm and twisted, I felt another sharp pain and then the whole thing went numb, numb like lice in my blood. . .

I kicked up and out, catching him square in the stomach and sending him back into the wall. The door rattled. . . I forgot, Natalie locked it. She was yelling in the hallway, one high sharp voice amid a rumbling chorus. There was only the door, and the window.

A shot was fired in the hallway.

Natalie's gun.

I was up and scrabbling through the window when I heard the door open. More shouting. . . I was almost free. . . There was a loud bang, and a line of molten pain spread across my calf, but I was outside and running even before the adrenaline hit me.

I ran until my lungs threatened to fial me, until I felt weak and dizzy with exertion and blood loss, until my mind was a haze and my very skin felt too loose, too baggy, too much weight. . . I ran until I hit the gates of the Tendo dojo, and there I fell. The dirt was warm and welcoming.

I will not be chained. . .


	7. Addendum

I would like to inform all of you that while a feasible explanation for the Scottish accents is forthcoming, I promise, it IS contrived. No bones about it, I just thought it would be funny and there is NO reason for it to be so otherwise. I mean, I'll have Ryouga be from Scotland (and Ukyou too, won't that be fun) but really, really, it IS contrived. Don't you just love honesty?

I decided I wasn't done writing for the day, so consider this a half-chapter. Sort of like a stepping stone.

Thanks again. . . .

I hate the woman.

I hate her damn mallet.

Most of all, I hate her damn COUNTRY.

I've never, ever, even in the midst of training, been unconscious more times in one day than I have today. Oh, she beat me fair and square all right. If I were home, Mom would have had me perform the Kiss of Death on her. As it was. . .

I stomped down the stairs, glaring at every single floorboard. How DARE she? How COULD she? When I found that girl, she was going to be in some serious, serious. . .

There was a knocking at the door. As I was about two feet from it, I strode over and opened it, prepared to snarl at whoever was standing there. I expected it to be Akane. . . and I was disappointed.

The blonde boy from the picture stood in the gathering night, looking thoroughly downtrodden. His hair was mussed, his eyes were red and had black smudges underneath. He even smelled.

How terribly sentimental.

I didn't even wait for him to speak. I just grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, yanked him inside, and closed the door before throwing him up against it. His eyes got really, really wide at that.

Good.

"Jordan, aye?" I hissed, leaning in real close. He gulped and nodded. I pulled him away from the door and slammed him back into it again. "You used to be Akane's fiancé, aye?"

"I AM her fiancé. What did she tell you?" the whelp yelped, more than a little defensively. I slammed him again.

"She told me you were a philandering, lying, thieving son of a bitch, that's what she told me. When I rescued her from jumping off a damn bridge, Jordan. Do you understand?"

"No, actually, I don't," he tried to brazen it out. I slammed him again.

"Fine. I'll make it real simple for you. Where I come from, obstacles are for killing. You come back here, and I'm gonna consider you a real big obstacle."

"What are you talking about?" he yelped, trying to kick me. It didn't even hurt. How did Akane fall for this guy? Honestly.

"You hurt her, Jordan. Made her want to end her own life. That means you and I have a problem, got it? You may not know me that well, but trust me, you do NOT want to have a problem with me. I don't want to see your filthy face in this doorway ever again. Get me? Ever," I snarled. I dropped him and opened the door.

If I were being honest, I was going easy on him. Amazon law is very explicit when it comes to weak outsider males—they are useless. If one so much as glances at an Amazon woman in the wrong way, anyone is well within their rights to kill him. Weak outsider males are less valuable than even bunny rabbits, or mice. At least those can teach children to care for others.

I hoped he would defy me. Give me an excuse, if nothing else. I hoped he would prove to me there was something in him that would justify Akane's attachment to him. There wasn't. He ran like the sniveling coward he was, without even looking back.

I decided to take a walk myself, get some air, maybe calm down a bit. Whenever I saw Akane again, it wouldn't do to be so angry—there's a limit to how many raving lunatics can share a conversation, and she more than fulfilled the quota.

I ran over the roofs for a while, just blowing steam. When I returned to the dojo, there was something sprawled in the gateway.

Not something, someone.

Akane.

And there was a trail of blood leading to her.

I rushed to her immeadiately, all thoughts of our problems pushed to the back of my mind in the event of an actual emergency. She was breathing, still, and her heart was only a little weaker than it should be. Still, she was bleeding profusely from a nasty wound on her leg, and she was covered in bruises.

"Akane, what happened to you?" I whispered, picking her up as gently as I could. Obviously, she needed medical attention. I remembered seeing a hospital on the way into town- -that would be the best place.

Without wasting the time to call inside for help, I leapt onto the rooftop and kept leaping. She was lighter than I thought she'd be, but still it was hard to be gentle and not jar her too much. By the time we reached the hospital, she was almost awake again. She was groggy, sure, but her eyes were fluttering and she was mumbling something in Japanese. I don't have much of that language, but it sounded like something unrepeatable in civilized conversation—and one phrase clean and clear throughout.

"Not be chained," she kept saying. Whatever in hell that meant.

I walked into the hospital and into an absolutely horrific amount of noise. Apparently, it's odd to see a boy carry a beaten girl in. I wouldn't think it would be, but it was. She was carted off to have whatever it is doctors do done, and I was made to sit down with a big pile of papers that I had neither the knowledge nor the inclination to fill out.

I handed them back to the nurse blank and asked her when I could see my wife. She handed them back to me and told me than until she saw ID, she had no reason to believe Akane was any such relation to me. I pulled out my student Green Card, and she handed me another sheaf of papers.

Then, she told me to keep my ID handy, since the police would be arriving soon.

You try to help someone. . . .


	8. Xian Pu's Confession

The moon is a wild, unruly mistress. She is partners with the wind, and in their night revels they lead many a warrior along a false path. Sometimes the path is one followed through the woods, sometimes it is one followed through sands of time.

The moon and the wind have conspired together to take my cousin from me.

In her way, the moon has shrunk and grown again three times since I last saw the face of my favorite cousin, and I cannot say that time has diminished the fear I hold for her. I know why she left, perhaps better than anyone. Nodoka wanted Ranma to marry that man, that strange foreign man, and my cousin refused. I know why-- who would know better than I?

I have felt Ranma's hands on my skin and I know her heart only beats faster under a woman's touch. I have heard her say it, and I have seen her prove it-- many times over. It's not uncommon for young Amazon women to turn to each other before-- and after-- marriage. A man cannot possibly understand what it is to be a woman, for true love a woman must find understanding.

Most women do not cease such "games" when they are finally defeated by a man, but I had to-- the truth of Ranma's first gender would make such acts adultery. Amazon women are faithful. The day came a little over a year ago that Mu Tsu, that silly child who plagued my every step all my life, finally grew strong enough to defeat me.

I expected it. What I did not expect was that Mu Tsu's sudden strength came from a tutor, and that tutor was none other than my own cousin. When I asked her why she would betray me so, she was confused. She claimed to feel pity for Mu Tsu, and to want only my happiness. She said he loved me more than any man had a right to love a woman, and what could be wrong with that?

That was when I understood at last that for Ranma, our kisses and caresses were only that, and I could never command her heart the way she did mine. Great-grandmother said it was because I am not strong enough, mentally. Physically, yes, but Ranma needs someone who can yell her down. I never could, in all our endeavors my cousin was the undisputed leader.

So I married Mu Tsu, and after a year of laying with him, I think I'm finally going to have a child. Not for a while yet, but I can feel it beginning within me.

That is why, before I grow too heavy and cumbersome, I must find my cousin and talk her out of her stubbourn refusal to marry that foreign man. The act of love is endurable even for one such as her-- there are stories. Great-grandmother says her sister was the same way. A warrior could bear it. Ranma must bear it. I cannot have my daughter born without Ranma to help in the naming.

It is a tradition-- all women of the tribe must offer a name. I want to hear the one Ranma would offer. I want to see her face when she hears the news.

Time is, as always, short. Help will be needed.

(Changing from Xian Pu's point of view to Akane's. . . I'm sorry for the awkward scene shifts, my compy hates me and doesn't like to keep formatting. I couldn't see Tofu in an ER, so he won't appear there. . . sorry again.)

I woke in a maze of machines.

A man in a white coat was standing over me, holding a clipboard. He smiled when he saw I was awake. A man in a police uniform started at a word from the doctor, and began fishing around in his pockets. He pulled out a pen and paper.

"I see you're awake," the young doctor smiled. "I'm Dr. Malphrus, and this is Officer Perkins. You are a very lucky young lady."

"Lucky how?" I asked. My voice was tight and hoarse even to my own ears, my lips felt cracked and dry. There was a strange pounding in my head, as if every capillary were expanding and contracting as one.

Everything else was just a haze of pain. Fortunately, the young doctor seemed inclined to catalogue each ache.

"You're awake, is how. I was beginning to wonder if you'd come out of it tonight. You have a major concussion-- three seperate concussions, truthfully, but who's counting? Four cracked ribs, one broken arm, a mass of bruises and bumps, not to mention that rather odd hole you've got in the back of your leg. Bullet wound. Looks for all the world like you got shot while you were running away from your attackers," he said, in the tones of a mother scolding a child. I almost smiled. Almost. "The nice policeman would like to know just who shot you."

I did smile at that. They were making my life a lot easier-- I thought I'd have to track the police down, prove I wasn't crazy, and then give them a report. Here one was all ready to jot down my story.

"Natalie. That's what she calls herself, anyway. I don't know a last name, but she was arrested a few nights ago on charges of fraud, then let out on bail. Her and Jordan Upton," I said. I was encouraged by the sight of the policeman writing it all down. "He was my fiance, until I found out about the fraud charges. I broke it off right in the jail,"

"Thank you," the yougn doctor said, turning away. I shot him a withering glance.

"I'm not done. Stay put. Earlier today I was hit across the back of the head while I was walking, and taken to an apartment I recognized as 1435 Parkview, in the Palasade complex. Jordan's father owns it. Natalie was there, as well as two thugs. She said something about her ambitions reaching far beyond petty fraud, and left me with them. When I made my escape, she was the one who shot me," I finished, giving the policeman a steady stare. He blinked at me.

"But Palasade is nearly four miles from where you were found. You couldn't have run all that way," he protested. I scoffed at him, and it hurt my throat.

"I'm a martial artist. I could have run twice that far."

"I doubt that," the young doctor sighed. He began walking toward the door, and the policeman followed. "I'll be back to check on you in an hour. Your family has been notified, and they're on their way. Until then-- Officer Perkins, I'd say it was safe to let the young Chinese man come in for a visit, wouldn't you?"

Officer Perkins nodded, looking abashed.

"I'll take the handcuffs off him right away, Doctor," he promised. They left, and a few minutes later Ranma strode in.

Just who I didn't want to see.

"I'm not in the mood," I snapped, and closed my eyes. He whistled, long and low.

"Y'really look like hell warmed over," he said, softly. "I'm glad I got you here so fast."

My eyes flew open at that. He was standing quite harmlessly at the foot of my bed, rubbing his wrists.

"You brought me here?" I asked, somewhat incredulous.

"Carried you. Had to, you were obviously spent. No wonder." He made a scornful noise deep in his throat. "Do you beleive they actually thought it was me who did this to you?"

"I can see why, you look dangerous enough," I noted, taking in the muscles under his shirt. He stiffened.

"Surely you dinna think I would?"

"What's stopping you? Because I'm a girl? Because if so, you can shove that sentiment . . ."

"Because an Amazon man never hurts his wife. To do so is punishable by death," he said, stopping me in my tracks. I started to laugh at him, but that hurt, so I stopped.

"I'm not your damn wife," I said, for what felt like the thousandth time. "If you don't want me to kick your ass, you'll stop SAYING things like that!"

He opened his mouth to say something, then shut it promptly and turned away.

"I'll see y' at home, lass. Dinna fight the doctors too much, aye?" he suggested. He paused at the door, without turning around.

"I meant to. . . never mind," he whispered. Then he was gone, and I was alone with the whirr and bleep of the maze of machines.

(Changing from Akane's perspective to Ranma's. Can't make it interesting or pretty. . . tear)

It was a long walk to the Tendo dojo.

When I got there the house was dark. Presumably the family had left for the hospital already. I meant to tell her that I was wrong about her, that she had done better today than any Amazon warrior could have. That I respected her now, and that didn;t come easy.

What would be the use? What could I possibly acheive with that? A sense of home? A place to belong with a loving wife and an endless supply of food?

No such thing.

Even among the Tribe, I was alone. Pops always wanted to take me on some training mission, we'd be gone weeks, months at a time-- once for two years-- before Mom would send people out to find us and bring us home. I was always the returning stranger or the temporary help, and only three or four people ever claimed to be my friend at all.

So even if this works, and I could return home with that little hellcat, what would I be returning to? To a life of shame as a male who once was female, to give up all that I gained as a warrior and become simply a MAN. Some life that would be. Maybe I should have married Ryouga and been done with it. Married someone who thought I was a freak. Let him possess my body husband to wife.

The thought makes me ill.

If only I knew where I was trying to go. . . what I was trying to achieve. In battle, one has clearly defined goals. That's why I love it. In the rest of life, one just has to try and do the best one can. . . I would gladly do anything, anything at all from murder to whoring, if only I could find something worthy to devote my time to.

What in the bloody blue ballocks am I trying to achieve? What do I want? Where can I possibly go from here?

For now, all I can do is sort though the mess of this girl's life, and try not to flunk out of this useless university. It's enough to keep me occupied but then. . . what?

Maybe I'll become a wandering mercenary and travel from town to town taking down the corrupt influences of this corrupt society.

Or maybe it would be more fun to just lay down and die.

The house was dark, but not empty. Someone was sobbing quietly in the entryway. I approached cautiously, until I recognized the silloutte.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I snapped. Jordan looked up at me, tearful and dribbling snot like some baby. I allowed my contempt to show on my face. "Don't make me repeat myself."

"I'm too late, they already got her," he sobbed. "They took her and. . . I was trying to warn her, you bastard, you wouldn't let me warn her. . ."

"If you actually wanted to warn her, you wouldn't have let me stop you so easily," I spat. He sobbed again. "She's fine, if you're interested. Beat to hell and back, but she'll live. They have her in the hospital overnight."

"Oh god, what did they do to her?" he asked. I thought about kicking him in the side until his ribs broke, but I couldn't bring myself to injure the weak little creature. It would be like kicking a puppy.

"Nothing compared to what I'll do to you if I ever see your filthy, snivelling face again. Get up. Get up!" I commanded, feeling my temper begin to boil. Shakily, slowly, he stood up. "I don't know what you're involved in, and I don't care. Keep away from Akane. She's mine now, got it?"

"She loves me. She'll never love you," he hissed. I almost hit him. Almost. I kept my temper in check to avoid the guilt I'd undoubtably feel later-- one punch from me could kill a guy like him.

"Maybe she will, maybe she won't. I don't care. You aren't hers anymore, so keep the hell away from her. Like I said, if I ever see your face again, the doctors won't be able to put all the pieces of you back together, Western medicine be damned. Now get out of my sight."

For the second time that day, I watched the little coward flee.

(Thanks for reading. Explanations of Ryouga's nationality to be up next chapter.)


	9. Coward's Backbone

Disclaimer: Do I look Japanese? Seriously. No.

By the time the police stormed the apartment in the Palasade complex, it was empty. Natalie and her men were nowhere to be found. Jordan Upton was also missing. There was, however, a large quantity of chemical equipment strewn about the corners of the apartment. Testing of this equipment proved it was used to create a derivative of opium—the remnants were everywhere.

Akane Tendo, lying in her hospital bed, didn't hear that news from any one of the policemen who seemed to be constantly underfoot and in the way of the doctors—every gunshot wound was treated like an active part in an opium-ring case, and the manpower required for such an effort was quite taxing the resources of the small college town.

She saw it in full color, blazed across a television screen.

Ten AM came and went, with no sign of Ranma. Due to her injury, Kasumi had suggested "that nice strong young man" come pick her up after the English class they were supposed to share. Akane had turned the news on to alleviate her boredom, all the while mumbling that she could damn well walk home if that idiot didn't show up to carry her. When she saw the story in the news, she nearly broke the TV set by throwing the remote at it.

10:30.

11:00.

She was about to give up and hobble home under her own power when Ranma finally did show up. He looked pretty pissed himself, and he was carrying a few shopping bags.

"Where in hell have you been?" she spat, wishing she hadn't thrown the remote-she was out of projectiles. He glowered at her, stalking over to her bed and nearly throwing the bags down.

"Whole town is a waste of space, I've no idea why y' live here," he grumbled, gesturing toward the bags. "Open it, I haven'a got all day."

She ripped the plastic sacks open to reveal. . .

"Where did you get these?" she asked, her anger slipping away in the face of amazement. She touched the leather lovingly, slipping her fingers around the smooth metal clasps and sliding them down each sharp blade. Her hand came away bloody, but what did a few more cuts matter?

"Don' do that, ye bloody idiot! Haven' you seen throwing knives before?" he snapped, jerking the set away from her. For throwing knives they were—the real thing, not just some counterbalanced shortdaggers, these were small, light strips of sharp metal on a strip of leather like a bandolier. Impatient, Ranma began to fasten the knives around her midsection, completely uncaring when his hands brushed her breasts by mistake—or so it seemed. When she raised her eyes from his hands to his face she caught not only a rather grim frown, but a distinct blush across his cheeks.

"Of course I have," she replied. "I just didn't know you could find them in this town."

"I couldn't, in a shop. Some questions led me around to some private dealers. Damned expensive, those are," he paused fastening the last buckle, to give her a wide grin. "Consider the cost part of my room and board, aye? Yer father wilna take rent."

"If you have money for rent, why stay with us in the first place?" she asked, the words slipping out of her mouth before she could pause them. Ranma turned scarlet from his neck to the roots of his hair.

"Pops insisted," he said, in clipped tones. The blush didn't fade, though. Akane cast about in her mind for something else to say, and a disturbing idea came to her.

"Wait a minute. This whole hospital is crawling with cops. How'd you get throwing knives past them all?" she asked, suddenly suspicious. "I know the cops are lax here, but honestly. . ."

"They're not that easy to get past, an' if they were I'd never have left ye alone here," he said firmly. Akane felt her blood warming at his words, despite herself. "I've a bit of a trick to me, is all."

"What sort of trick?" she asked, as he finally moved away. He flashed her that grin again, that self-important, impulsive grin.

Then he disappeared.

Akane stared blankly at the spot where he had been for a few seconds, then slowly reached a hand out to the spot where he was. A hand settled against the back of her neck, and she stifled a scream.

"How did you DO that?" she hissed, turning around to face Ranma. . . who was now on the other side of the bed. He shrugged, as if such things happened all the time.

"Three thousand years of Amazon history, we ought to have picked up a trick or two." What he didn't say, though he badly wanted to, was that he was the fastest learner in his tribe. In fact, several of the elders had offered to take him on as a private student—provided he married Ryouga.

It's a lot to give up for a sexuality preference, no doubt about that.

"That was amazing," she admitted, the first unabashed praise she'd ever bestowed upon him. He felt a small glow radiate from his chest, and cleared his throat to try and dispel the feeling.

"Yes, well, if you were a daughter of my tribe you might know it too—you're certainly stubborn enough to keep at it," he remarked, intending it to be a compliment. He was surprised to see her face grow dark and her eyes narrow. "What?"

"Just take me home," she snapped.

(the camera shot pans out from the hospital bed, out the window and across town to where Natalie and her two boy toys are "interrogating" Jordan. (Hey, I'm just trying to make it more interesting.))

"Traitor!" Natalie hissed, staring down at Jordan. He glared up at her, out of the eye that still opened properly. The other was swelled up.

"Traitor, is it?" he sneered out of cracked and bleeding lips. "I never agreed to help you hurt the people I care about!"

"No?" Natalie leaned in real close to him, so their faces were almost touching. He shrank back from her, curling further in on himself. "YOU were supposed to be my connection in this town. YOU were supposed to distribute my opium to the students. And you know damn well what opium does to people. Did it ever occur to you that some of the people you were dealing to would be the people you love? Your precious little slanty-eyed whore? I would have had her on it in a hot minute.

"No," she said, after a pause. "You wouldn't have thought of that. You're a coward, Jordan, and a fool," she was whispering now, and drawing away from him. She drew the gun from its hiding place. "And I am done with you."

Snap.

The butt of the gun met his skull with a sickening crunch, and he crumpled.

"When he wakes up, follow him. Meet up with us in Albany, if you can make it there without being followed. You know the procedure," Natalie told the goon on her left. He was a large man, scarred and thoroughly battered by the life he'd found himself in.

"Why follow him?" he asked, as she was turning to leave. She scoffed.

"Loose ends, idiot. He'll lead us right to the Akane girl, and then you can take care of them both. I don't want this story to get plastered across the news as an international drug ring case—after all, the deaths of young lovers are just so dramatic. See to it."

(Back across town, where OUR young lovers. . . I mean, heros are arriving at home. . .)

"You're amazing!" Akane admitted, finally shamed into open praise. It's hard to stay mad at someone who's treating you to the ride of your life. After sneaking out of the hospital – Akane had convinced Ranma to take her out the way he came in, taking her with him into the shapeless, formless world of BETWEEN, where time meant nothing and light and sound bent oddly around her body—they had come straight home.

Literally, straight home. As the crow flies. He'd picked her up gingerly, despite her protests that she was too heavy to carry—which he'd laughed at—and leapt up onto the nearest roof. From there it was a running, leaping journey that came closer to flying than anything she'd ever experienced. And he was winded, surely, but not too badly. He wasn't even sweating that hard.

She knew a lot of crazy martial artists, but only Kodachi could hop roofs, and she wasn't all that good at it. This Ranma was in a league of his own.

A slow blush crept into his face at her words, and he cleared his throat loudly to dispel the sensation. Formless praise is one thing, but something like that, when truly meant, is another entirely. Not that he had any doubts of his own superiority—he just hadn't expected her to see it.

"Aye, well, have to be, I guess," he said, lamely. "Listen, the knives weren't my only errand this morning. I had to track down an old friend, too. If it's all right with ye, it would be best if he could stay at the dojo as well."

"Our home is always open to weary travelers, as a dojo ought to be," she replied, and there was a formality to the words that led him to believe she'd said them many times before. "Who's your friend?"

"The fellow who took ye home after that incident in the woods? He'll be watchin' you, while I look for . . ."

"WATCHING me?" she squealed—a little over-indignant for someone being carried like a child into her own home. "I don't need a babysitter! I'm a little injured, not completely helpless!"

"Ye're a good sight more helpless than I feel safe leaving you alone, an' that's not up for negotiation," Ranma said, firmly. Akane began to struggle in his arms, and he made as if he were going to drop her. That caused her to yelp and throw her good arm around his neck for stability. "Don' struggle, or I'll let you fall!" he warned.

"I don't need your damned protection, or your pity! And just what makes you think you have the obligation to watch after me, huh? I don't even KNOW you! Just get lost, and take your whole confusing freak show with you!" she shouted. They were beginning to draw an audience now. Kasumi, Soun, and the panda had peeked their heads around the corner. Ryouga had paused halfway down the stairs, where he'd been coming to re-introduce himself. Of the spectators, he was the only one without shock written on his face.

At her words, Ranma had stilled, the muscles in his jaw working as though her were trying very hard not to say something. She began to struggle again, but this time he pulled her nearer instead of pushing her away.

"Like it or not, yer bound by my laws—you're my wife, and damn if I'll let you die of pride!" he snapped. He kissed her hard, not an expression of love or lust, more of a calculated attack—and as she drew back her good arm to slap him he touched a spot on her neck, and her whole body fell limp.

"Hellcat," he muttered, looking up at Ryouga. They exchanged a wry grin as Ranma handed Akane to his ally, careful not to displace her bandages. "She'll wake up in less than an hour, aye? Make sure she's out of reach of those knives by then."

"Och, aye," Ryouga said, easily. "And let me congratulate y' on yer choice o' bride—she's a rare bit o' hellfire, ain't she?"

"Ever'thing an Amazon's wife should be—believe it or not," Ranma replied with a rueful grin. "Hate t'admit it, but Mother's gonna love her."

"Weel, then, ye'd best be off makin' sure you keep the lass alive til yer mother meets her, aye?" Ryouga pointed out, raising a sardonic eyebrow.

"And ye'd best be makin' sure ye don't sit too near when she wakes, or they'll be cleanin' y'out of the carpet fer months," Ranma advised. With that, completely ignoring the presence of his father, Kasumi and Soun, he walked right back out the door.

His plan might have worked—he was going to find Jordan, find Natalie, beat some sense into the lot of them and hand them over to the police. Simple, violent, and in keeping with his vigilante tendencies. However, at that very moment, Natalie and most of her gang were on a train headed for Albany, and Jordan. . . Jordan was just waking up, with some very nasty bruises and lumps.

Akane woke up to the sight of her ceiling—her bland, plain white ceiling, and a wet cloth placed over her head for the form of it. The first thing she remembered was that kiss, and both her lips and her blood burned at the thought of it.

"That bastard," she muttered. "Idiotic, conniving, scheming, manipulative, cocky, impudent. . . ." and on down the list. She was going through insulting names in Japanese when a soft chuckle off to her right made her aware of another presence in the room. Slowly, she turned her head, glowering intently at whomever might be so foolish as to be in her room when she was in such a black mood.

It was that strange Scottish boy, sitting some distance from her bed in her desk chair. When she turned her glare on him, he gulped and shrank back a little.

"What. Are. You. Doing. Here?" she asked between clenched teeth. He laughed nervously and scratched the back of his head.

"Well, y'see, I'm set t'guard ye. . ."

"I KNOW that. Why? What's in it for you?"

"A warrior could never abandon an injured woman, be she scary or no," he said, firmly. She thought about that for a moment, and had to admit he had a point.

(Thank you for your patience. I'm sorry I'm such a ditz. . . NEXT chapter will have an explanation of Ryouga's Scottish-ness. Promise. Not that I'm good at keeping promises, as you may have noticed. But NEXT chapter. . . I'd like to thank all of you who have reviewed, they're very sweet and rather helpful. Thank you so much. Especially those of you who point out where my brain malfunctions. . . )


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